Last Saturday I was kinda bored
so I strolled over to our local Nights Out motel to take in a gun show. Man, what a sight. I thought I’d died and gone to gun
heaven. The conference room was crammed
full of pistols, hunting knives, AK-47s, rocket launchers and one discounted
guided missile. Not a gun-control freak
in sight.
Interesting people there
too. One man had his arm around his twelve-year
old son while he raised a Kalinokov in the other hand. “You ready to go blast the bejezus out of
Bambi?” he says.
Another man in a motorcycle
jacket embroidered with skull and cross bones was salivating over a
semi-automatic. The salesman was telling
him how to convert it into an automatic and turn elk into Swiss cheese.
I ran into a guy with a long
name. I just called him “Mo.” So I says, “Hey, Mo, watcha think of all
these weapons?”
He shook his head. “I understand swords, but this is too much
for me. How do you cut off someone’s
head with these gun things?”
I picked up a Uzi. “You could start a nice war with one of these
babies,” I says, clicking in an imaginary clip.
“Blow away a damn lot of infidels.”
He gave me a sad smile and walked
away.
A little later I was standing in
line to add my name to a drawing for a genuine leather holster. A guy was sitting quietly in the middle of
the floor in his bathrobe. I hunched
down next to him. His name tag had
another long name, but I shortened it.
“Hey, Sid,” I says. “How come you
blocking the aisle?”
He sat with his legs crossed and
had his palms turned upward on his knees.
Really calm guy.
I shook him and his eyes popped
open.
“Taking a break from all the
excitement?” I ask.
“Life is suffering,” he says.
“Yeah,” I replied as I hefted a
thirty-ought-six off a nearby table.
“But along the way you can blast to bits a whole herd of squirrels.”
“Right livelihood,” he says and
closed his eyes.
“You got that right, Sid,” I
says. “If only I could get paid to be
pounding away with one of these babies.”
Then he started chanting about
the eight-fold path. I didn’t know if he
was going to make origami birds or what.
I decided it was time to get some
lunch. I sat down at a table with a guy
who had long hair and a beard. Kinda
skinny. Above the neck this guy fit
right in. But the rest of his
outfit. Give me a break. Nobody goes to a gun show wearing a sheet and
sandals. It was amazing his toes didn’t
get crushed by all the cowboy boots.
“You want a bite of ribs?” I
ask.
“I don’t eat that kind of food,”
he says. “Thanks for the offer though.”
He had a Mexican name, but I just
called him by his initials. “So, J.C.,”
I says. “Whatcha think of this place?”
He looked sad. You’d think someone had pounded nails through
his hands. “Resist not evil,” he says.
“No way,” I says. I picked up a grenade a ten-year old boy had
left on the table. “Do unto others
before they do unto you.”
